The air outside was cold enough to sting, sharp against Mira's cheeks as she and Alex stepped into the pale morning. The city was still yawning awake—streetlights fading, early commuters dragging their lives down sidewalks, a soft hum of engines and footsteps filling the background.
But for Mira, the world felt…thin. Like the sky itself was stretching too tightly, holding its breath with her.
Alex kept pace beside her, scanning every passing car, every doorway, every motion like he was expecting something—someone—to slip out of the shadows.
She didn't know whether that made her feel safer or more afraid.
They walked in silence for a few minutes until they rounded the corner onto Hawthorn Avenue, where the old archive building rose like a monument to secrets. Even in daylight, it looked haunted. The windows glared with a washed-out sheen, like blind, accusing eyes. The stone façade was cracked in places, ivy clawing its way up one side.
Mira remembered the stranger inside.
His too-still presence.
His warning.
His red mark.
Her fingers instinctively brushed behind her ear. The skin still felt hot, like a bruise formed by memory instead of touch.
Alex noticed. "Still hurting?"
"No. It's just…there."
He nodded, jaw tight. "Let me go in first."
"No," she said quickly. "If they really expect me to come alone, you could put us both in danger."
"That's assuming they actually care about the rules they set."
"They broke into my apartment," she said. "They don't strike me as polite."
His lips twitched, but he didn't argue. He scanned the street again, then pushed open the heavy front door.
The smell hit them immediately.
Dust. Old paper. Decay.
But also…something oddly metallic. Like blood. Or rust.
The lobby was empty. No front desk worker. No quiet shuffling of scholars. Just rows of shelves disappearing into dim corridors like skeletal ribs.
"Which room did you meet him in?" Alex whispered.
Mira pointed toward the west wing. "That way."
Their footsteps echoed too loudly as they walked—each step a small betrayal announcing their presence. Mira's heart beat in her throat, pulsing with every sound.
When they turned the corner into the reading room where she had first met the stranger, her breath caught.
It wasn't empty.
The table in the center had been cleared except for a single object.
Her hair tie.
The red ribbon one from the photo.
Placed deliberately. Neatly. Like an offering.
Alex muttered a curse under his breath. "They're taunting you."
Mira's hands shook as she approached it. She picked it up gently. The fabric was cold. Too cold. As if it hadn't been in this room at all—at least not until moments ago.
Suddenly—
Click.
A door somewhere in the archive opened.
Then closed.
The sound reverberated through the shelves like a pulse of dread.
Alex immediately moved in front of her, protective. "Someone's here."
Mira swallowed. The humming tune from the morning slipped into her head again, uninvited and unwelcome.
She whispered, "This place…feels wrong."
"It always did," Alex said. "I just didn't want to scare you."
"Too late."
He managed a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Then, from the far end of the reading room, someone whispered—
"Mira…"
Her blood froze.
The voice was soft. Familiar.
Too familiar.
She turned toward the sound, breath stuttering.
No one.
Just the shelves.
Alex reached for her hand without thinking. She didn't pull away.
"Don't move," he murmured. "Let me check."
He stepped toward the corridor, footsteps soft as he moved between the shelves.
Mira stayed still, holding the ribbon like a lifeline. The silence pressed in again, but something in it felt alive. Watching. Listening.
She closed her eyes and whispered to herself, "Don't lose it. Don't fall apart. Stay here."
Another whisper.
"You shouldn't have come back."
Her eyes flew open.
This time, the voice was behind her.
She spun around.
And there—standing just a few feet away at the end of the aisle—was the man from her apartment shadows.
She recognized him instantly even though she had never seen his face clearly before. He had the same lanky frame, the same unsettling stillness, the same presence that felt like a cold hand pressed against her spine.
But now she could see his face.
Sharp cheekbones. Sunken eyes. Pale skin stretched too tightly, like he was carved from wax. And behind his ear—
A red mark.
Identical to hers.
Her breath hitched.
"W-who are you?" she whispered.
He tilted his head, studying her with eerie calm. "You should remember me."
Alex's voice cut through the tension as he ran back toward her. "Mira—get away from him!"
The man didn't flinch. Didn't react at all.
"Mira," he said softly, "you've always come back. Every time. But this time…you woke too early."
Her chest tightened painfully. "What are you talking about?"
He stepped forward one slow, deliberate pace.
Alex moved instantly, positioning himself between them. "Stay back."
The stranger blinked once. "Alex. You interfere in every cycle. You never learn either."
Alex stiffened. "You know me?"
The man almost smiled. "Intimately."
Mira felt her stomach drop. "Alex…what does he mean?"
Alex didn't take his eyes off the man. "I don't know who he is."
"That's a lie," the man said quietly. "But your lies aren't important anymore."
Alex's jaw clenched. "You don't get to talk to her."
The stranger sighed like an exhausted teacher. "Still pretending to be her protector? You're late every time, Alex. You were late the last time she died, too."
Mira's entire body went cold.
"Stop," she whispered. "Don't say things like that."
The man's gaze softened—not kindly, but almost…sadly. "This is the last cycle, Mira. The last version of you. The last chance either of us has to break it."
"What cycle?" she choked out. "What are you talking about?"
He stepped forward again.
Alex moved with him, blocking him every time.
"Enough," Alex snapped. "If you take one more step—"
The man didn't listen.
He took another slow stride forward.
Alex grabbed Mira's arm. "Run."
But Mira couldn't move. Her legs felt rooted to the floor.
The stranger whispered, almost tenderly—
"You don't remember the red door yet, do you?"
Mira's breath caught.
Another flash.
The red door.
A shadow behind it.
Her hand shaking as she reached for the handle.
Someone whispering—
"Choose differently this time."
She staggered, clutching her forehead.
"Mira!" Alex grabbed her shoulders. "Stay with me—"
But her vision blurred.
Her ears rang.
The stranger's voice sank into her thoughts like a nail.
"The door is waiting."
Then—
A sharp crack echoed through the archive.
A shelf somewhere toppled.
Books cascaded like an avalanche.
Alex yanked Mira backward instinctively as a massive wooden case slammed onto the floor where she had been standing seconds earlier.
Dust filled the air in thick clouds.
The lights flickered.
The building groaned.
When the dust began to settle—
The stranger was gone.
Vanished.
Alex coughed, pulling Mira against him protectively. "Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head, still trying to catch her breath. "No…no. But Alex—he knew your name."
"I noticed."
"He knew about…cycles. About the door. About my death."
"I noticed that too."
She grabbed his sleeve, voice small. "Alex…is he telling the truth? Have I…have we…done this before?"
He didn't answer.
And that silence was louder than anything the stranger had said.
They staggered out of the archive a few minutes later, coughing dust, shaken and breathless. The sunlight hit them like a slap, grounding but almost surreal after the suffocating dimness inside.
Mira leaned against the cold stone exterior of the building. Alex stood in front of her, hands braced against the wall on either side of her shoulders, making a shield.
"We need to go," he said. "Now."
"Alex," she whispered, "tell me what's going on."
He closed his eyes, exhaling like the truth hurt to hold inside.
"Mira…I don't know everything."
His voice shook.
"But I know you've lived this before."
Her chest tightened. "And you?"
"Yes," he said softly. "Me too."
Her knees nearly gave out, and he steadied her quickly.
"We're not crazy," he said quietly. "Something is looping. Time, memory, fate—whatever it is, we're caught in it. And every time…"
He hesitated.
"Every time what?" she whispered.
His voice broke.
"Every time, I lose you."
Mira's heartbeat stuttered.
The city around them blurred.
All she could hear was Alex's ragged breath.
"What does he want from me?" she asked.
Alex looked back at the archive, jaw set.
"He wants you to open that red door again."
"Why?"
"Because whatever's behind it…" He swallowed hard. "That's where it all began."
Mira felt a shiver slide through her spine. "And you want me to stay away from it?"
He looked at her with a mix of fear and something deeper—something almost aching.
"Yes," he whispered. "More than anything."
But the memory—
That faint echo—
Pulled at her like a thread unraveling from the fabric of her life.
"I think," she whispered, voice trembling, "I've opened it before."
Alex nodded slowly. "You have."
She met his eyes.
"Did I survive?"
His silence was answer enough.